


Never Let the Dreams Begin

by Valonia



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-16
Updated: 2011-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 16:21:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valonia/pseuds/Valonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: After the apocalypse, all past military (aka Eames and Arthur) are called into the new service to fight off some type of monster - zombies, aliens, any other monsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Let the Dreams Begin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gryvon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryvon/gifts).



> This deviated a bit from the prompt, but I hope it still satisfies.

They've taken to calling the larvae "Kruegers." They kill you while you're sleeping. As near as they can tell, the bugs slide inside you through lacerations in the skin, or through natural orifices. The larvae are thin as thread and almost invisible, according to the reports that were on TV, back in the early days. They're looking into finding a way to tell who has been infected, but as of now, there's no way to tell. That is, until you go to sleep and you don't wake up.

Rumor has it that anyone who has had Somnacin in their system is less susceptible to infection. No one in their group, other than Arthur and Eames, will admit to recreational dreaming, so they have no way of knowing whether it's true.

The adult bugs (hostile life forms, according to Arthur) are called Clackers, for the noise they make while eating. Once the larvae eat their share of living tissue, however many have multiplied inside the host body converge to create a new adult, which bursts out through the skull and promptly sets to eating the corpse it's left behind. Other adults join it, and their thick, hard wings knock against each other while they feast.

There isn't much government to speak of now, but the directive was issued five days before the capital fell, back when the television signals were still active. All former military personnel were expected to report to the nearest listed city center to assemble a militia against the bugs.

"We don't have to go," Eames had said, even as they packed their bags. Their possessions were few even by then, so they were finished in minutes. Arthur had locked the PASIV device away in a bus station locker, his mouth twisted in regret. They'd been working a job only fifty miles from the nearest check-in point when the bugs had descended.

"And then what?" Arthur had asked, and Eames had taken it as rhetorical.

The cell phones had been the first to go, the signals obscured by the swarming locust-like clouds of the bugs. They didn't know if any of their old contacts were still alive. They would be safer among more people with weapons, at least in theory. Eames is safest with Arthur, regardless. Arthur is a one-man zombie-apocalypse preparedness kit, and even if the zombie part isn't accurate, his skills and supplies are enviable.

The active military personnel who are still living are already few and far between, but there are two in Arthur and Eames' group. They're both enlisted, and both barely out of their teens. They're good soldiers, but they aren't yet leaders. The other twenty members of their group are a mix of retired military, people who claim military training but show no trace of it, and civilians who saw a large group of people as the protection they needed. Eames had watched Arthur struggle not to form relationships or take over leadership of the group. Eames had no such problem.

The first shift of sleepers are spread apart, with those on watch closest to the exits.

"Did you think to pack bug spray?" Eames asks, deadpan, and Arthur shoots him a look. Instead, he hands Eames extra ammo for his two handguns and a hunting knife from his pack. The stated plan is to divide their group into four to take turns sleeping. Arthur and Eames have their own plan, and this is the first time in two days either of them has attempted sleep. It's Arthur who props his head up on his rucksack and wraps his arms around himself, which leaves Eames awake, and, if not precisely alone, alone enough.

The bugs can tunnel underground, and they can chew through wood if they're motivated enough, but brick seems to slow them down significantly. They've been known to break glass, slamming themselves against it until it cracks and shatters. Finding a suitable base was no easy feat, but they'd found a squat brick building with few windows. They'd shot the few bugs that had entered through the open door and swept the hard shells back outside. It's not precisely comfortable to have the entire group in this small a space, between the foul smell of the dead bugs' innards still staining the floor and the smell of over twenty unwashed people, but both Eames and Arthur have experienced far worse.

As Arthur sleeps, Eames' job is to watch for any bugs near the windows and doors, and to examine the sleepers for any sign of infection. The only sign they know how to read is a split-open skull, which happens far too late to make a difference. Arthur is convinced that there must be another way of knowing who is infected. Eames keeps watch, his instincts too sharply honed to do otherwise, but his gaze rests again and again on Arthur's sleeping form.

It's been less than an hour before Eames notices Arthur's eyes moving behind his eyelids. _He's dreaming_ , Eames thinks, and then, _That's not right. Arthur doesn't dream, not without_ —and Arthur jerks himself awake. He's panting a little, and Eames' hand automatically goes to Arthur's wrist to take his pulse. He can feel Arthur's heartbeat fluttering beneath his fingers before he pulls his arm away.

"What is it?" Eames asks, stubbornly reclaiming Arthur's wrist.

"I shot myself out of the dream. Eames, whatever's happening to people, it's while they're dreaming, I'm sure of it. The hostiles, they get into your dreams somehow…" Arthur trails off. He pulls away from Eames again and moves to stand. Eames follows him, confused. "Eames, don't you see? I'm infected. They were in my dream, no, they _made_ my dream, they _were_ my dream." Eames grasps Arthur's shoulder, holding him still. Arthur takes a step backward. They're attracting the attention of other members of their group now. "God, stop touching me, we don't know how it's spread."

Eames forces his panicked thoughts to slow down. Arthur presents a problem, and Eames solves it. That's the way this works. "The PASIV," he says quickly, "Somnacin." He holds his hands away from Arthur placatingly. "It's had time to wash out of your system, yeah? So we go…" he drops his voice down, "To the place… and get it, give you a booster, buy us some time."

Arthur is shaking his head. "We don't even know if that rumor is true. Anyway, there isn't enough. It won't last long enough to make a difference."

Across the room, there is a shout, and Eames turns to see a bug burst through the skull of… someone in their group. Eames could analyze the clothing to see who it had been, but he and Arthur are moving tactically, yelling for the civilians to get back, and unloading their rounds into the hard carapace of the bug, which emits a hissing sound and tries to continue feeding. Anyone who was asleep is awake now, and they scramble away from the body. The other armed members of their group are trying to help, but they mostly create obstacles for Eames and Arthur to dodge as they hit the bug over and over again. At last, a round tears through the vulnerable spot under the tightly tucked wings, and the bug oozes yellow-green ichor and is still.

They leave the others to clean up. "I am not standing by while _that_ happens to you." Eames glares at Arthur.

"Eames, you don't have a choice." Arthur's voice is pleading and his eyes are soft. It's not like him to speak to Eames in that tone.

"If you've got it, then I have, too," Eames states, changing tactics. "Really, what method of transmission do you think we've missed?" He sidles up to Arthur, who looks at him warily. "Airborne, skin to skin…" he drops his voice and speaks directly into Arthur's ear. "Sexually transmitted."

Arthur elbows him away. "Please. It's been weeks." Arthur's expression is stoic, but his usual glint is back in his eyes, which is something, Eames supposes.

"As you have stated so many times, we have no idea what the incubation period could be," Eames tells him. "While you and I were playing that lovely game of cops and robbers, who knows what might have hitched a ride?"

Arthur cracks up. Gallows humor always was his style. "Eames, we did not--" he wheezes, punching him on the shoulder. "There was no _roleplay_."

"Memory is a very subjective thing, darling," Eames tells him airily. "Now that's settled, what say we take a little trip?"

The others in their group mostly stare silently as they prepare to leave. They've made no friends here, and no one asks them to stay. Arthur leaves some of his weaponry behind. Eames shakes his head. His own weapons and ammo are his own, and he has no desire to change that fact.

Two of the group silently follow them. The woman is one who had claimed military experience, and the multiple scars on her face and body lend credence to it. She's been in some kind of war, even if it wasn't a government-sanctioned one. The man who tags along is civilian through-and-through, but both of them come with their own weapons, so Eames is content to ignore them for now. If they all make it to the bus station, however, all bets are off. The Somnacin will be Arthur's alone.

They travel on foot, at first. Arthur has stopped pulling away from Eames' touch, so every so often, they guide each other with a hand on the small on the back or clasped hands as they navigate a milling clump of adult bugs. He sees the man and woman (David and Rosa, apparently), holding on to each other in the same way. The adult bugs are mostly a nuisance, as they don't feed on living flesh, but they are unnerving at best, potential infection at worst. It would be a waste of ammunition to try to kill each one. It's best to avoid them.

Once their walking pace begins to slow, Eames hotwires them a car. Arthur drives. The nice thing about a plague that kills its victims in their sleep is that it doesn't create as much outward chaos. The roads are mostly clear. The few car wrecks that still litter the roads were from distracted and panicked drivers who saw the bug swarms coming in. Arthur drives, and Eames wishes that the radio stations were still active to drown out the sound of their tires crushing the Clackers that don't fly out of the way.

"If we had a tank," muses Arthur, but he doesn't complete his thought. The pile-ups are getting more frequent as they move out from the center of the city. They'll be walking again soon. No one attempts sleep, and they break into a convenience store for energy drinks, coffee beans, and food. There's plenty to go around.

At last, they reach the bus station. Arthur retrieves the locker key from his pack. Eames moves into a defensive stance, but Arthur shakes his head at him, and in the end, the four of them enter a small maintenance room that locks from the inside.

Rosa inserts her cannula expertly, but Arthur leans to help David. Eames enters his own line and watches carefully as Arthur fixes his own. Eames tucks himself in tightly next to Arthur.

"We don't know if this will work," Arthur warns them all, for the hundredth time. "We don't know what might be waiting down there."

"Wouldn't it be lovely if we were already dreaming?" Eames asks before Arthur depresses the plunger. "If all of those beastly things were just projections of some deranged person's mind?"

"If that's the case, we could be headed into limbo," Arthur points out. He pulls the die from his pocket and rolls it where Eames can't see. A soft smile crosses his face. "Good night, Mr. Eames," Arthur says, and he presses the button.


End file.
